


good enough

by kingdra (aroceu)



Series: Generosity [34]
Category: Super Junior
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/kingdra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, Ryeowook’s not helpless, but he also has mood swings and sometimes the oddest food cravings that it’s the worst when Jongwoon sees that Ryeowook can’t control himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thundersquall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/gifts).



At precisely eight o’clock, Jongwoon calls through the apartment, “What do you want for breakfast?” and hears a muffled noise in response. Ryeowook comes trudging out of the bedroom a moment later, rubbing his bleary eyes, and asks, “Why do you have to wake me up so early?”

“Because I knew you would’ve slept till noon if I hadn’t,” says Jongwoon cheerfully. It’s Sunday and he’s reading the newspaper. A cup of coffee is nursed in his hand.

“I would like bread, thanks. And porridge,” Ryeowook adds, sitting on the couch next to him.

Jongwoon beams. “Great,” he says, and then goes into the kitchen to prepare Ryeowook’s breakfast.

It’s not Ryeowook’s fault, he knows—the pregnancy has gotten Ryeowook into a funk of sorts, and it’s Jongwoon’s job to take care of him. He can cook well enough for Ryeowook even though he doesn’t like it as much; but Ryeowook likes his cooking. Or, well, he likes that Jongwoon cooks for him. It’s all the same, isn’t it? and Jongwoon doesn’t mind at all taking care of his husband (and their baby.)

“First trimester is almost over,” Ryeowook says from the living room.

“Is it?” says Jongwoon, heating up the stove. “It’s been—”

“Three months already, yeah,” says Ryeowook. “Doctor’s appointment Wednesday afternoon.”

“Oh, right,” says Jongwoon. “I’ll drive you there after work.”

When he looks to the living room, Ryeowook shakes his head. “It’s in the middle of the day,” he says, and then, “I can get there by myself.”

Jongwoon furrows his eyebrows in worry. “Are you sure?” he says. “How are you—”

“Take a cab, no big deal,” says Ryeowook. He’s taken the next seven months off of work and Jongwoon needs to do all he can to support them. Yeah, Ryeowook’s not helpless, but he also has mood swings and sometimes the oddest food cravings that it’s the worst when he sees that Ryeowook can’t control himself. Two months into the pregnancy he’d caught Ryeowook rocking and crying in his bedroom and murmuring about not being able to pull through, to handle this, and Jongwoon had held him and whispered that he’d be strong and okay because goddamn, he’s  _Ryeowook_ and he’s the most amazing person Jongwoon has ever known.

He has half a mind to believe that that had been just the mood swings talking, but Jongwoon feels that deep down inside, Ryeowook still thinks it. So he says to Ryeowook, “Okay,” because Ryeowook can take care of himself and Jongwoon doesn’t need to baby him. Jongwoon kind of wants to, though.

Ryeowook gives him a smile and says, “Yeah,” and then, “Pay attention to the porridge, hyung,” and Jongwoon does and almost yelps because the porridge has almost burnt and the shout of laughter from the living room makes him think it’s almost worth it.

*

When the second trimester begins and goes through, Jongwoon can see that Ryeowook is putting on weight. He loves it, though Ryeowook seems too self-conscious and mutters all the time, “I shouldn’t be eating this, I shouldn’t,” and then does anyways.

“Eat all you want, baby, there’s more,” says Jongwoon as he brings over the second pot of rice.

Ryeowook shakes his head, spoonfuls of pork still in his mouth. “I should only eat enough for me and the baby,” he says, “no more.”

“And that’s all you want,” says Jongwoon. “There’s dessert, if you’re up for it.”

“Dessert?” Ryeowook’s eyes light up. And then, “Oh, no, no I shouldn’t, no—”

“It’s rice cakes,” says Jongwoon, and Ryeowook whimpers a little.

“Okay, okay, maybe one—”

Ryeowook eats five and asks for another (Jongwoon’s had three) and when he asks if there’s anymore, Jongwoon tells him that that had been all and needs to hold Ryeowook when Ryeowook sobs about eating too much again.

*

“You’re beautiful,” Jongwoon tells him that night, and Ryeowook self-consciously covers himself and whispers, “I’m not.”

“You are.” Jongwoon pinches his little belly and then the rolls on the sides and Ryeowook giggles, says, “Jongwoon, stop that!”

“Just so cute,” says Jongwoon, tickling his nose around Ryeowook’s bellybutton. Brings himself up and with his nose, nudges at the lumps around Ryeowook’s nipples. (Ryeowook refuses to call them breasts.) Licks them.

“Jongwoon,” Ryeowook murmurs, shifting slightly. His legs spread apart, almost like instinct, and Jongwoon grabs onto his thighs and squeezes at the fat around his lower back.

“God, I love you like this,” says Jongwoon, and Ryeowook looks down.

“You love me when I’m fat?” he asks.

Jongwoon kisses his belly, brings his palms down to Ryeowook’s ass. His hips are wider now—Jongwoon hadn’t minded them before, but there’s something satisfying about being able to hold more of Ryeowook. Ryeowook squirms in his grip and Jongwoon tells him, “I just love you, okay?” and he brings his head down, licks at Ryeowook’s hips, holds him tightly and rubs circles into his skin.

Jongwoon fucks him slowly and gently and back against the mattress, of course, so there’s less pressure on Ryeowook’s body. Ryeowook’s arms are thrown back and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open but Jongwoon drags out each thrust, doesn’t let himself go, soaks in his heat and watches Ryeowook’s eyelids flutter open and closed.

“Jongwoon,” says Ryeowook, “ _god_ ,” and when he comes, Jongwoon wants to lean over and kiss the life out of Ryeowook but doesn’t want to stop this, the rhythm they have.

Ryeowook rolls his hips up against Jongwoon’s gently and Jongwoon lets himself go, falls over but keeps himself up with his hands as he shudders into Ryeowook’s body. Ryeowook takes his face in his hands and kisses him and their noses slide against each other and the world stops in this moment.

*

The cravings become crazy halfway into the second trimester when Ryeowook’s craving a different food nearly every hour—first fried rice, which Jongwoon can manage; and then sandwiches, which is odd but Jongwoon can also manage. Then it’s gone to the point where it’s mangoes with raisin buns on the side, and then pineapple pizza which they’ve had only once on a vacation gone wrong in the United States. And then vanilla bubble tea, which Ryeowook complains doesn’t taste like the bubble tea in Taiwan.

“I’m sorry,” says Jongwoon, and wishes that Taiwan were only a block away so he could get the right bubble tea from there.

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s.” Ryeowook waves the cup and sips it again. Makes a face, and continues drinking it. “Not the same,” he says, “but it’s still good.”

“Not what you wanted, though,” says Jongwoon. He walks behind the sofa and massages Ryeowook’s shoulders. “What do you want next?” he asks, as Ryeowook plays with the bubble tea straw and then drinks some more.

“I don’t know,” says Ryeowook. “Maybe some beans. And, and, um. Potatoes. And chicken.” He frowns, and then nods. “Yeah, chicken.”

“All right,” says Jongwoon, and leans down to kiss Ryeowook on the cheek. Ryeowook bats him away.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” he says. “Spoiling me and all.”

“I’d think that would make me the best,” says Jongwoon, before going into the dining room and picking up the keys. “Be back in twenty minutes.”

*

By the time the third trimester hits, they’re both near ecstatic. They can feeling the baby kicking—Jongwoon from the outside, Ryeowook from the inside—and Ryeowook babbles, “We’re going to be daddies, oh, Jongwoon, we’re going to be  _daddies_!”

“We are,” says Jongwoon, and then tickles a finger on Ryeowook’s belly. Ryeowook giggles. “Hear that, son? We’re your dads!”

“He can’t hear you,” says Ryeowook, and Jongwoon says, “C’mere,” and he holds Ryeowook like that, just his arms wrapped around him as they stand in their living room, not ready to go to bed.

“You really like me like this?” says Ryeowook, craning his neck to look at him. “Even though I’m all big and—bloated?” He’s even bigger now, like Jongwoon can practically see how the baby fits inside of him, and Jongwoon loves knowing that this is something that this is  _theirs_. No help from anyone else—just the two of them. And Jongwoon loves running his hands up and down Ryeowook’s sides, feeling every curve and bump, being able to bury his palms into him.

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Jongwoon, kissing Ryeowook’s neck. “God, if it’s you—I don’t care how you are. You’re the same person to me.”

He tickles Ryeowook’s sides then and Ryeowook laughs and pushes him away, falls onto the couch. Jongwoon joins him and they lose their evening there, watching old dramas and talking about the baby.

In the morning they’re still on the couch and when Jongwoon wakes up he wonders what he’s going to make Ryeowook for breakfast today. Ryeowook is fast asleep against his arm and hell if it isn’t sore, but Jongwoon just brushes a strand of hair from Ryeowook’s forehead, kisses the side of his jaw, and thinks,  _Yeah, don’t stop being wonderful._  Ryeowook sniffs and rolls a little more into Jongwoon’s arms and Jongwoon doesn’t mind staying here a bit longer.


End file.
